


Any Way the Wind Blows

by MoonytheMarauder1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/F, Jealousy, Quidditch Player Gabrielle, Suspected Cheating, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonytheMarauder1/pseuds/MoonytheMarauder1
Summary: Romilda thought she loved Gabrielle, but it was the thrill she was really addicted to.
Relationships: Gabrielle Delacour/Romilda Vane
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	Any Way the Wind Blows

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is yet another fic I've moved over from ffn. This one is... a little more depressing. But. I promise it isn't all angst. *laughs nervously*
> 
> Warnings for jealousy and an unhealthy relationship

The first time she laid eyes on Gabrielle, it was snowing. That’s what Romilda remembered most: the snowflakes glittering as they caught in the younger woman’s blonde hair, the laughter in her blue eyes, the pale skin flushed from the cold… she immediately captured Romilda’s attention. 

Everyone knew Gabrielle Delacour, of course. Aside from being war hero Fleur Delacour’s sister, Gabrielle had made quite the name for herself in the Quidditch world. People were crowding around Gabrielle, snapping pictures and shouting out questions and, in some cases, declarations of love. 

Romilda shook her head and kept along her path, ignoring the way her heart sped up at the sight of the younger girl. It was probably her Veela heritage, Romilda reasoned; love at first sight didn’t exist, no matter what the romantics claimed. 

But the winds changed, and Gabrielle Delacour just happened to look her way. 

The next thing Romilda knew, she was holding a butterbeer in her hands and grinning proudly as Gabrielle laughed at a story she’d told. 

“You know,” Gabrielle managed between breaths, “you’re the first person I’ve brought here who talks to me like a real person.”

Romilda raised a dark brow. She wasn’t afraid to be cocky in front of this girl. “Sounds like you do this thing all the time.”

Gabrielle’s blue eyes widened. “That’s not what I—oh.” She laughed. “Oh, I see. Very funny.”

Romilda took a sip of her drink, pleased. The snow on Gabrielle's blue cloak was melting and the sun was shining through the windows; Romilda felt warm all over. 

Gabrielle traced the rim of her bottle with her index finger. “This is fun, talking.” There was a note of sadness in her voice. “Normally… well.”

Romilda snorted. “Don’t worry. You’re not a big shot to me.”

Gabrielle grinned widely, completely unoffended. “Excellent,” she whispered. 

Oh, yes. Romilda’s heart was in trouble.

  
  


With spring came the official start of their relationship, even if the world was blissfully unaware of it. Hiding might have bothered Romilda, but it was so, so lovely to see the younger girl curled up in her armchair, a Charms book open on her lap. Romilda has never been much for Charms, but Gabrielle had the cutest obsession with the subject. 

Romilda crossed the room as silently as possible, her bare feet barely making a sound as they padded against the floorboards. 

She came up behind the Quidditch player, who was still absorbed in that book. She leaned down until her lips were directly behind Gabrielle’s ear. Grinning, she whispered, “Well, aren’t you adorable.”

Gabrielle jumped, startled—as Romilda predicted she would—then turned to playfully swat her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Merlin! Don’t be such a git, you scared me.” She tried to maintain that blue-eyed glare but dissolved into laughter mere seconds later. 

Romilda’s heart swelled with delight. She loved that charming laughter; she could listen to it for the rest of her life and never tire of it, she was certain. 

“Well, there goes the last lingering thread of my heterosexuality,” she teased, watching Gabrielle flush prettily and pretend to ignore her. 

She straightened up, still cackling, and offered the younger girl a hand up. “Come on,” she said, the amusement clear in her voice, “let’s go out to eat tonight. It’ll be fun.”

Gabrielle bit her lip. “A Muggle place?” she asked hopefully.

Romilda faltered. “I was hoping,” she began, her dark eyes searching her girlfriend’s face, “that you would be okay with going to a magical place this time.”

Gabrielle twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. “I’d feel more comfortable somewhere I wouldn’t be recognized, you know? If that’s okay with you.”

Romilda bit back her protest; it was heartless, after all, to insist that Gabrielle do something she wasn’t comfortable with. “Okay, then,” she relented. 

Gabrielle brightened. “I’ll go get ready, then.” She stood on her tip-toes so she could peck Romilda on the cheek. 

Romilda smiled as she watched Gabrielle walk away, completely taken by her lover. 

  
  


With summer came the rain.

Romilda stormed into their—no,  _ her _ flat like a whirlwind, black hair flying and eyes on fire, all to cover the terrible splintering of her heart. 

Gabrielle looked up when she entered, bewildered. The quarter-Veela was on her feet in an instant, concern coloring her features. “Romilda! What’s happened, why are you—”

Romilda slammed the tabloid she was holding down onto the table, shaking violently. “I want you to tell me why there are pictures of you and—and  _ Roger Davies _ , of all people, in every form of printed press from here to Timbuktu!”

Gabrielle glanced down at the picture on the magazine cover, as though Romilda was mistaken, as though she was wrong about the people whose arms were wrapped around each other—

Gabrielle closed her eyes. “We’re only friends, Romilda. Roger and I met through Quidditch. I’m  _ allowed _ to have friends, aren’t I?”

Gabrielle was angry; that much was clear. But so was Romilda. Her relationship with Gabrielle had always been kept under wraps, out of the public eye. But here she was, no problem being affectionate with Roger Davies, a fellow Quidditch star, so intimately that everyone Romilda had spoken to believed them to be in love…

“Are you ashamed of me?” Her voice was deadly quiet. 

Gabrielle took a step back, shocked. “What? No!”

“Then tell me why this has to be a secret,” Romilda demanded viciously. “Tell me why you’re always hiding me away.”

Gabrielle’s brow furrowed in anger. “I’m not  _ hiding you away. _ I’m trying to protect you from all the damn cameras that follow me around! I didn’t think you’d enjoy being gossiped about.” She gestured towards the tabloid. “Or was I mistaken?”

Romilda wasn’t about to back down, though. All her life, she’d been a cut below the rest. She wasn’t about to let this go, to believe Gabrielle when it was so clear that higher-ups like Roger fucking Davies were so much more worthy of Gabrielle’s time. 

She needed to  _ know _ . She needed to know that there had never been any attraction between the two because she knew if there was… she might lose this fight.

“You’re not afraid to be seen with Davies,” she ground out.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes. “The press follows him, too. It was nothing new.” 

Romilda clenched her hands into fists. “I just… I want to be a part of your life that you’re proud of.”

She could have pointed out that the recognition was something she yearned for, proven by the fact that she’d slipped Harry Potter a love potion seven years ago (a fact that horrified her now, but her ambition remained). She could handle that fame. Part of her  _ needed _ the attention. 

Which gave her pause. Why, she wondered suddenly, did she love Gabrielle? Was it the girl herself—or the position she held?

Romilda’s stomach turned to ice. 

Gabrielle, oblivious to her inner struggle, sighed. “I am proud of you,” she murmured. “If you really don’t mind… maybe we could head over to the Three Broomsticks tonight.”

Romilda brightened. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Gabrielle toyed with the silver bracelet on her wrist, a small frown on her face. “Maybe… maybe we should talk about this, though. We’re obviously on different pages here.”

Romilda was about to decline—she didn’t need to analyze herself right now, considering that she was afraid of what she’d find—but stopped. Gabrielle was trying, and she shouldn’t be making this any harder than it had to be. If she wanted to be wrong about her assumptions about herself, then she needed to  _ try _ . 

So she found herself nodding. “Yeah. Over dinner, how about?”

Gabrielle nodded, looking relieved. “That sounds perfect.”

  
  


Autumn came, and as it killed the world slowly, it killed Gabrielle. 

The younger girl didn’t say as much, of course, but Romilda could tell. There were times she would catch the younger girl just staring at her, a crease between her brows. Gabrielle was more withdrawn, despite her skyrocketing popularity; with that popularity came Romilda’s own. That, Romilda guessed, was the problem.

One day, Gabrielle confronted her about the issue. 

“Hey,” she said softly. “Can we talk?”

Romilda glanced at her watch. “Er, yes, but we’ve got an appointment with the  _ Prophet _ in just a bit.”

Gabrielle nodded slowly. “I know,” she murmured. Without another word, Romilda was led to the kitchen table. 

Once there, Gabrielle sat down and folded her hands in front of herself, completely still. Romilda sat down across from her, so they could face each other. Gabrielle stared at her lover for a moment before reaching out to tuck a stray strand of curly hair behind Romilda’s ear. 

“Since we ate publicly a few months ago, you’ve changed,” Gabrielle began bluntly. There was a slight tremor in her voice. “You… I dunno. You ‘ave less time for me.” 

Romilda frowned, concerned. While her girlfriend always had a French accent, it thickened in times of distress. She leaned forward, unsure of how to proceed. “I’m still the same person.”

“No, I don’t think you are.” Gabrielle was struggling, now, to keep her composure. “You don’t take much interest in me when we’re alone. You like taking pictures, you like laughing at the articles they make up about us, but you don’t have any interest in  _ me _ .”

“Of course I do,” Romilda protested. “Look, this is probably just because you have that big match coming up. You’ll do fantastic, and you’re not failing here, either. I believe in you.”

“I’m not worried about ze damn match,” Gabrielle hissed. “I ‘ave concerns about ‘ow dedicated you are to zis relationship.”

Romilda knew she had to quell these fears quickly. “I am dedicated,” she said calmly. “If you’re having insecurities, tell me about them.”

Gabrielle bit her lip. “Okay.” She took a couple of deep breaths before continuing, her hands twitching towards Romilda’s but never quite reaching out for them. “What do you like about me?”

Romilda blinked. “What?” She laughed nervously. “Where did this come from?”

Gabrielle grit her teeth. “Answer me, please.”

Romilda floundered. “Well, you’re smart, funny, kind… beautiful, a talented Quidditch player—”

“Specifically,” Gabrielle clarified in a whisper. “We’ve been in this relationship for nearly a year. Be more specific.”

“Well, I…” Romilda’s gaze wandered as she scrambled for something to say—why did her mind have to go blank  _ now? _ —when she spotted the crumbled tabloid in the rubbish bin. 

Her chair scraped against the floor loudly as she stood. Gabrielle protested her movement, but Romilda ignored her as she retrieved the tabloid. There was her answer, written across the cover.  _ Romilda Vane: In Love, of Fame Crazed? _

“So that’s where this is coming from.” Romilda tossed the magazine to Gabrielle, who refused to look at it. “Seriously? You think I’ve been  _ using  _ you for three-quarters of a year?”

Gabrielle closed her eyes. “The article... brought up good points.”

“Brought up good points.” Romilda turned away. “Merlin… you think that I…”

But her blood was frozen. Hadn’t she feared this? Hadn’t she suspected it of herself? Gabrielle had asked her to name some things Romilda loved about her, and what had Romilda come up with? Practically nothing. 

But this couldn’t end on Gabrielle’s note. Romilda couldn’t be another piece of bad news.  _ She couldn’t be the bad guy anymore. _

“Romilda… please. I’m trying to talk about this with you! We obviously need to work some things out, and—” 

“And what?” Romilda rounded on the other girl. “You think I’m doing all of this for my own benefit?  _ You’re _ the one being insecure!  _ You’re _ the one who believed the first bad thing some nameless reported had to say about me!”

“Excuse me?” Gabrielle shot to her feet, her eyes furious. “All you’re doing is getting defensive and refusing to talk. And it’s not like you’ve never believed a bad article—”

“That was different, it was the beginning of our relationship and I wasn’t sure—”

“ _ It’s not different at all!” _ Gabrielle shouted, her entire body shaking. “It’s like you think you can be suspicious of me whenever you want, but if I have concerns, I’m being unreasonable!”

“Oh, stop being such a dramatic b—” Romilda stopped herself, but the damage was done. 

Gabrielle’s eyes popped out of her head. “Did you—did you—”

Romilda stalked over to the door, wanting to flee from this disaster as soon as possible. 

“I have work,” she said shortly. “Don’t come after me, and… ugh. Don’t come near me again.”

“No—no don’t walk away, we need to sort this out!”

But Romilda shut the door.

  
  


An hour later, and Gabrielle walked through the door of the little pub where Romilda worked, looking nervous but determined. Romilda rolled her eyes and approached. 

“Welcome to the House of Misery,” she said pointedly. “May I take your order?”

Gabrielle ignored the heat in her words. “You can take your break,” she said softly. “We really need to discuss us, Romilda. Because if we don’t, I’m ending it here and now.”

Romilda grit her teeth but went to inform her manager. Then she led Gabrielle over to a table in the corner that offered them some privacy. 

Gabrielle sat down and looked Romilda straight in the eye. “We haven’t been all right in a long time,” she began softly. “I would do a lot for you, Romilda, but I really don’t think—” Her voice broke. “I really don’t think you feel the same.”

Romilda didn’t respond. 

Gabrielle sighed and continued. “What do you think is on the other side of this relationship?” she asked. “What do you want from me?”

Romilda struggled to get her thoughts together. She was angry and defensive, but she knew that running away again was only going to prolong the inevitable. 

“I like that… I like that you don’t shy away from confrontation,” she blurted out suddenly. Her voice was hoarse, and she fidgeted with her skirt. “I like that you always forget to close doors, and I like that you sing in the shower.” Her gaze dropped to her lap. “But… you’re right. It’s not you anymore.” She closed her eyes and shuddered, all the fight draining out of her. She just felt so… empty. “You must hate me.”

Gabrielle chuckled dryly. “Dear Merlin, just when I thought you couldn’t get any stupider.” Gabrielle reached out and took one of Romilda’s hands. “Now, don’t get me wrong; I hope that one day someone tears your heart to pieces like you did mine because you strung me along for… a really long time.” Gabrielle bit her lip. “But hate you? I can’t bring myself to.”

Romilda nodded; that was fair, after all. “I suppose this is goodbye.”

Gabrielle looked at her carefully. “You loved the thrill.”

Romilda shrugged and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well.” Gabrielle swallowed it. “I hope you find it, one day.”

Romilda released Gabrielle’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

“Yeah. Well… goodbye.”

“Bye,” Romilda muttered. She didn’t look up as Gabrielle walked away, but she did wonder how she could feel so light, and yet, so heavy.

  
  


Winter came again. Romilda wasn’t looking for her, but she saw her nevertheless: Gabrielle, walking arm in arm with Cho Chang, snowflakes in her hair and her face red from the cold. 

Romilda had expected to feel jealousy, anger, or some other negative emotion. Instead, she smiled gently. Gabrielle looked so happy. She hadn’t looked that way when they were together, and Romilda was reminded of why she’d been so attracted to the girl in the first place. 

But Romilda knew better now. Fame went straight to her head, and it was better that she stayed away from it. The occasional exchange of letters with Gabrielle was enough for her.

Romilda turned and walked down the street, leaving Gabrielle to her happiness. 


End file.
